


If You Want To Go Faster

by cryptonym



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3355010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptonym/pseuds/cryptonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s all or nothing with him. Which is a problem for me, since he’s decided to give me nothing. Not a sound. Not a whisper of a sound. Bastard.</i>
  <br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Want To Go Faster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dicta_contrion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicta_contrion/gifts).



> **Warnings/Content Notes:** Established but fairly new relationship, orgasm denial, public magical fondling (without consent, but Harry seems to enjoy himself with it, so…), a bit of light bondage, eighth year (I think), wanking, fingering, frottage  
> 

Potter’s breath catches in his throat. I look up at him from where I’m kneeling between his legs. His lips are pressed together in a thin line. I can imagine words and sounds building up behind them, pushing, _fighting_ to get out of his stubborn mouth.

This, again. Fuck. Fuck it all. It’s not _fair_.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes open now, a flicker of unease in them.

I raise an eyebrow, which drives him mad, mainly because his eyebrows won’t work independently of each other. It’s all or nothing with him. Which is a problem for me, since he’s decided to give me nothing. Not a sound. Not a whisper of a sound. Bastard.

“I don’t know, is there?” I ask, in response to his question. I sit back on my heels, letting my hands fall by my sides.

He looks confused. “No? I was… I mean… Look, if you don’t want to do… this anymore that’s fine.” His face has a pinched look to it, and he turns away.

Imbecile. Of course I want to do it. For whatever reason I have taken it on myself to be hopelessly and completely addicted to Potter, of all people. Every waking moment is filled with thoughts of his chaotic abandon. I used to think it was something to be pitied - the wild hair, the hectic flush that he gets whenever he’s excited or angry or aroused in any of a million different ways. But it’s not stupid. When we fuck he sweats so hard that his skin slides between my hands. He will do anything I want, without hesitation, and throw himself into it with everything he is. And yet, not one word or sound passes his lips.

He doesn’t have a problem with vocalising himself in other areas, judging by the way he captains his Quidditch team. And it can’t be that he’s worried anyone will hear. I put up the privacy charms myself and they are perfect. If he were to wail like a Banshee or roar like a fucking lion when he came, no-one would hear a thing. 

I don’t understand. Unless… unless there really is something wrong. Something _lacking_. That thought brings cold fear. The Weaslette lost him for the lack of a cock. I don’t kid myself that he will stick around just because I want him to. He’ll do the decent thing - the fucking painful thing - and leave. Just because I can’t raise a scream from him.

“Come here,” I say, though he hasn’t moved, pressed as he is against the cold stone wall of his bedchamber, where I’d pushed him as I dropped to the floor, not ten minutes before, desperate for the taste of him, scrabbling to get past his Quidditch robes and breeches, mouth watering, revelling in my own shameful lack of decorum. I love it. I love that he can do that to me. Potter looks at me, his expression wary.

“Suck me off,” I say, standing up, pushing him down by the shoulders.

He seems to go easily enough. Eagerly, even. Silently he unfastens my trousers and pushes them down to my thighs. He glances up at me and I can see the flush on his cheeks, his eyes dark and wild with arousal. I can _feel_ it. His magic, close to the surface, zinging from his finger tips to my thighs, sending sharp jolts of pleasure to my cock and balls that make me wonder if I’ll actually last as long as it takes him to put his mouth on me.

I mean to keep as quiet as he does, to give him a lesson in what it’s like to give pleasure and receive nothing but silence in return. But I can’t. I _can’t_. His tongue and his fingers coax moans, curses and - most humiliatingly - a near scream of completion.

I lean hard against the wall, willing my legs not to give way, shuddering in the wake of aftershocks zipping up and down my body. When I glance down at Potter, he is breathing harder than ever, his chest heaving with it. His hands are on my hips. They tense every now and again as if he is going to pull me down. As if he wants something. Needs it. His cock is obscenely hard and red, standing up almost touching his belly, and every now and then it jerks a little of its own accord, in time with his grasping fingers.

He must be _aching_. It’s almost agony to see him like this. And yet he doesn’t even try to move to relieve himself. He won’t ask me either. I can see it in the set of his jaw. He’s waiting for me to take him in my arms, perhaps, and bring him off.

I want him to ask. I want him to want me so badly that he’ll beg me to do it. I want to. My fingers are itching to touch him, to make him fall apart. A shiver runs down my spine. I’d let him fuck me if he asked.

I push his hands away. The heat in his eyes flares again, as I bend down. But I merely pull my trousers up, taking time to fasten them, watching the way he sways slightly, pressing his left hand to the wall for support, his right clenches into a fist, curled close to his groin.

“What the fuck… this isn’t funny, Malfoy,” he says, his voice sharp with need.

I smirk at him. “I’ll see you later, Potter,” I say. A sudden thought - a whim, really - strikes me, and I add, “Don’t wank yourself off.” I lean down to kiss his cheek, touching the tip of my tongue to his ear lobe. He shudders - a full body shudder, biting his lip. Oh, I can almost hear the words he wants to say but won’t let himself. “I know you want to. Desperate aren’t you?”

I allow myself to touch a single finger tip to his cock. He’s leaking precome, the head slippery with it. He breathes hard through his nose as I swirl my finger in it and he lets out a huff of air, an almost noise, as I raise the finger to my lips and suck at the taste of him.

His eyes are wide, unblinking, as if he’s afraid to miss a single moment. I will him to beg me, then and there. But it’s vain hope. He won’t surrender so soon. A part of me is afraid that he will never surrender, that it’s not in him to do so. That is, after all, part of the attraction. Look how long it took to convince him that this was what he wanted and not the tense, awkward friendship he seemed so intent on pursuing.

“Be a good boy for me,” I say, smirking as he jerks back, frowning, ready to object. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

And then I leave him like that, though it pains me to do so, without even a backward glance.

~*~

I make myself scarce for the rest of the day. At supper-time I sit just out of reach, but close enough that I can see the tension in his frame. He refuses to look at me, engaging in deep conversation with Granger, Lovegood and Longbottom.

I slide my wand out, under the cover of the table, and cast a soft caress along his calf and up.

He blushes beautifully, but falters only for a moment before carrying on with his part of whatever it is they are discussing.

I slide the caress along his thigh, until it nestles between his legs, tickling his balls in what must be a terribly distracting manner, judging by Potter’s demeanour. Sipping from my goblet, ignoring Lovegood’s strange smile.

Potter shifts restlessly. It’s not clear if he’s trying to get away or sink further into the caress. I give a lazy flick of the wand, stroking Potter’s cock and he finally looks at me. Or rather glares and I can’t resist a smirk.

Despite the display of irritation, he doesn’t fight the spell, choosing instead to fight his own reaction to it. I know his strength - there’s no way on earth I could do this if he really didn’t want me to. I _have_ to see.

I drop my knife, with a loud clatter, kicking it further away as I duck under the table.

Oh dear Salazar… 

He is perched on the very edge of the bench, his legs spread as far apart as possible, cock straining at the front of his jeans. His left hand is clenched against his thigh, white knuckled. It seems that only a force of will as strong as his could possibly manage to hold still, in the circumstances.

I resurface - without my knife, having completely forgotten my own ruse - and Potter blinks in surprise. He must have assumed I had other plans under the table, but I am no Gryffindor.

He must be desperate to want to come here and now. To be offering himself to me like that.

I am so hard it hurts, I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for him and it sends a delicious surge of lust through me. Fuck, I want him.

“Are you alright?” A voice startles me out of my reverie. I don’t know the boy, I barely spared him a glance as I sat down, but he is looking terribly amused at my expense.

“Fine,” I snap, smoothing my hair and robes, just in case.

The boy, whoever he is, looks suitably chastened and goes back to minding his own business.

I turn to look at Potter again, but he is gone, leaving Granger and Lovegood whispering, heads bent together in a way that makes me nervous. Moreso when Granger glances over at me.

I do the only sensible thing and leave, my meal barely touched.

~*~

Potter is lying in wait for me, as I knew he would be, and yanks me into the nearest classroom.

“What’s the matter, Potter? Do I detect a hint of tension?” I tuck my hands into my pockets to disguise the fact that I have a raging hard on. Not that it will fool Potter.

He does that glaring thing again. “You’re a bastard, Malfoy.”

“And yet you’re the one dragging me into empty classrooms.”

He gives me a smug little smirk. “You’re not exactly breaking down the door to get away.”

I can’t help but laugh. “No, but since I already came today and you didn’t…” I let the unasked question hang in the air for a second. Potter doesn’t answer, but his blush and the way he swallows are enough to tell me the truth of it. “Since you have been on edge all day, I very much doubt you dragged me in here to tell me that I’m a bastard.”

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy,” he says, closing the small distance between us.

I think for a moment he is going to break the, as yet, unbroken rule and kiss me, his eyes burn into mine then drop to my lips for a lingering moment. But then he leans his cheek against mine and half whispers “I need…”

“Yes,” I say, my pulse thrilling at the words, my fingertips barely brushing across the front of his jeans, just enough to feel how hard he is beneath them.

“You know what I want, Malfoy,” he says, his voice tightly controlled, reined in. Disappointing.

I pull away. “No.”

Potter blinks several times, stunned. “No?”

“No, I don’t know what you want. No, I will not give you whatever it is you need in a dusty classroom, due to be used by a bunch of first years in the morning. No.”

He looks as though he’s been hexed. But no closer to begging than he was this afternoon.

“I’ll be in my room,” I say before stalking out, lest he should have any doubt about pursuing me.

It takes him a lot longer to arrive that I expected. I had imagined he’d be waiting for me when I got arrived, having dawdled the long way round, and given his blatant disregard for any of the constraints that hold the rest of us back - apparition within the castle being one such thing.

It’s late by the time Potter does show up, without so much as an explanation.

“What kept you?” I ask, letting my book fall open across my thigh. “I was about to go to sleep.” It’s a lie, but I’m annoyed with him.

“I’m here now,” he says.

“Yes, I can see that. What do you want?”

Potter hesitates, and a shiver of fear runs down my spine as I wonder if I’ve got it all wrong and he’s going to say it’s not working.

“I want you,” he says. His eyes flick up to catch mine and hold me there. “I don’t know what else… What do _you_ want?”

I bite back an irritated sigh and set aside my book. “Come here and I’ll show you,” I say.

A flicker of a smile tugs his lips up, lighting him up in a way that takes my breath away. He lies down, fully clothed, eagerly reaching for me, his hand curling up under my clothing.

“Stop,” I say, using my most commanding voice. “I want you to get undressed and then lie down.” I move back, giving him room.

I will never grow tired of seeing that look of defiance he always wears when he strips for me, and the fact that he’s already hard. He lies on the bed with that hint of awkwardness. I’d almost say he was shy, if I didn’t know better.

“How does it feel?” I ask, resting a hand on his thigh.

He trembles and pushes his head back against the pillow. His lips part, but no sound comes out. It doesn’t matter, by the time I’m finished with him he’ll be singing like a Siren.

“Trust me?” I’m surprised when he nods without hesitation. I take hold of his wrist, raising it above his head, tying him to the bed with a strand of magic. “Still trust me?” He looks into my eyes, unbearably intimate, but I find I can’t look away. He nods again and I bind his other hand. I leave his legs free for the time being, but bind the base of his cock with another strand of magic.

I almost forget what I’m supposed to be doing, he looks so perfect tied up and waiting for me. I start with his feet, stroking and massaging, bending to kiss his instep. That makes his eyebrows disappear up under his messy fringe for a moment, until I reach up to give his balls a none-too-gentle squeeze drawing an unsuspecting gasp.

My heart lurches and I go from aroused to fucking desperate in a breath. I want to kiss him. It’s not the first time. There’s something about his mouth… Everything we are seems connected to that one part of him that he keeps in check.

I lean across his legs, sliding my hand up over his cock, the wandless lubrication spell (self-replenishing) I spent the past four years perfecting coming into its own. His hips push up, but I keep my hand loose and I’m rewarded with a grunt of frustration.

“Stop pissing about,” Potter says. “I’ve been waiting all day.” The frustration in his voice strikes a nerve and my own cock jerks inside the confines of my trousers.

“Perhaps if you asked nicely.” I give his cock a tighter squeeze and Potter thrusts, his cock sliding through my fist.

“What do you want me to say? Please?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “Yes, I want you to say please. I want you to tell me how much you want it. How much you _need_ it. Tell me how good it is. And beg me to let you come. Because you won’t, until I’m satisfied.”

He’s staring at me, his lips parted, panting slightly, even though we’ve only just begun.

“Why?” he asks.

I look at him, baffled for a moment. Why? Why not?! Because I want him to feel so out of control that he has no option but to give that to me. I want to shake him up and turn him inside out. I want him to feel like I do: just because Potter is the one fucking me; just because he tastes so good that all I want to do is suck the salt from his skin and subsist on a diet of his come. Just because he is him. Not Potter the great, but Potter the horny bastard, down on his knees, touching me, holding me.

Fuck.

“Because I want you to,” I say. “Because I’m going to make you.”

He tugs at the bonds on his wrists. “What’s this for?”

“I want there to be at least some illusion that you don’t have a choice.”

Potter frowns, looking down at his cock in my hand, and then he seems to come to some sort of decision, nodding slightly to himself.

He turns that intense gaze on me. “Please, Draco,” I shiver at the sound of my name, not my family name, but my own name, coming from his lips.

“Yes, Harry,” I say, leaning further forward, unashamedly.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then says, “I nearly came earlier, when we were having dinner. You ducked under the table and I thought you were going to suck me off. Just thinking about it… _fuck_ , you…” His breath hitches. I slide my hand up and down, slowly. He tries to force me to go faster, thrusting his hips up, but I just loosen my grip further. “Oh god, you bastard, I fucking hate you,” he says, making me glow with pleasure. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Another spell and I press my lubricated middle finger to his arsehole. He pushes against it, forcing it inside him to the knuckle.

A muffled groan - his lips pressed together in a thin, pale line, eyes closed. I slide my finger out to the very tip and keep it there. He looks down at me, dazed, uncomprehending, and then he lets out a proper moan. “Oh fuck, Draco, _please_.”

“There it’s not that hard, is it?” I lean down to press my lips against the inside of his thigh. He shakes his head, tossing it from side to side on the pillow and dislodging his glasses.

“Harder, please.”

I ignore his pleas, keeping my strokes long and slow over his cock, sliding that single finger in and out.

It’s mesmerising to watch him. His skin is very flushed and his hair is damp around his face, his whole body is undulating, like a rolling wave of need and desire. I can feel his magic prickling my fingers constantly. His words have degenerated into a babble of sounds and pleas and curses.

I can hardly breathe. My heart is hammering so hard, I wonder if I might be in danger of fainting. But I can’t stop. I need him to fall apart. I need to hear it and see it. I find his prostate and stroke in slow circles.

Harry cries out and thrusts wildly. I loosen my grip, not letting him use me to push himself over the edge. I want to be right there, right at the front of everything as he comes.

He spits out something that sounds like “control freak” and a smirk tugs my lips up.

“You love it, you want it,” I prompt him.

“Yes, yes, fuck I want it.” His eyes open suddenly and bore into me with an intensity that feels like a sledgehammer. “I want you, want to feel you, on- want you to come too.”

My cock jerks so hard I could almost come in my trousers. Merlin. It won’t take long.

I withdraw, watching him tugging a little on the bindings as he can’t keep still, his hips rolling even though I’m not touching him, as though he’s fucking the air.

“Hurry,” he says, his voice urgent, needy, so fucking hot I’m surprised we don’t both go up in flames.

I throw my trousers and shirt on the floor, earning a wild, wide grin from Harry. “Who’s the desperate one.”

“Do you want me to test that?” I ask, even though I can’t imagine actually being able to carry out such a threat now. We’re on a track with no brakes, and no way of going back.

I kneel carefully, one leg between his, and lean forward, pressing my cock against his, wrapping a hand around them both. It feels unbearably good. He tugs harder on his bindings and I expect them to break. If he really wants to be free they’ll disintegrate. But they hold strong and his raises his hips up off the bed and quickly falls into a rhythm, fucking against me, and oh the feel of that. I won’t last, I’m far too close already.

“I’m close. Fuck, I’m close, Harry.”

He makes a keening sound and moves faster, I can’t hold him, his cock slips out of my grasp and his breath leaves him in a huff as I gather him back in.

“Draco,” he says, his voice anxious. “Just… can you kiss me? Please.”

I would laugh, but my breath is in short supply. My heart feels squeezed tight. I lie down on top of him, keeping my hand between us, and press a hard kiss to his lips. He meets me with equal force and it’s as if we’ve unleashed something raw and wild and primal, between us, rutting like animals. His magic sending shockwaves all the way through my body until I can’t hold back any longer. I come in a violent spasm, spattering my come across his stomach.

He starts babbling against my mouth. “I’m going to come. Please, Draco, oh fuck, yes… please. Fuckfuckfuck. Uuuuuuh.” His hips go out of rhythm, his whole body arches up off the bed, bringing me with him. I wrap my arm around him, holding him as close as I can. I can feel his heart beating so hard as he trembles and shakes and comes all over us both.

We lie there for a long time, I with my head tucked against his sweaty neck. The magical bonds disintegrate and he wraps his arms around me, holding me there.

“We need to talk,” he says, finally. I roll my eyes and he laughs. “I felt that, you prick.”

“What is there to talk about?” I ask.

“Everything.” He pulls away. Of course it would figure that in getting him to talk during sex, I now have to put up with his nonsense afterwards. I burrow against him again and he lets me. “That was… It was amazing.” He’s blushing, the heat of it warming my cheek. “I don’t know what you want, but I want more. I want to be able to tell my friends about us and… I dunno, I want to sit next to you at dinner and hold your hand and not feel like I’m always hiding something.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I ask, not because I don’t know, but because he could learn to be concise.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

On second thoughts. “Partner.”

“Alright, whatever, I want you to go out with me. No more sneaking around.”

“I like the sneaking around.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah, it is fun. Alright, some sneaking around, but just because we want to.”

I can’t help it. I can’t stop the smile from breaking out on my face.

“Are you smiling or smirking? I can’t tell.” I can hear the smile in his voice, though, so I know he knows.

“Smirking,” I say, then add, “Alright, since you asked so nicely.”

End


End file.
